Saving Grace
by lahey
Summary: It started with the strawberries. GalexMadge, AU.


_Disclaimer: I'm not Suzanne Collins, so there._

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In her opinion, the shade white was one of the worst things in the world. Her walls were white, her gown was white, her bed sheets were white.

White, white, white.

The only burst of colour in her little room was a small bouquet of flowers her father would bring for her every other day. Sometimes he brought blue flowers, other days red, usually pink or yellow. He never brought white flowers.

This was a good thing, actually, because Madge had had enough of white. It was such a bleak colour, eye-hurting, empty. Before her mother had passed, Madge had come to the hospital nearly every day to visit her. Madge's pink dresses, blue dresses, anything-but-white dresses were the only thing that gave the room colour. That, and the flowers from her father, of course.

White always meant something bad. For some people, death was black. For her, it was white.

Now she was stuck, in a room just like her mother's, reading and drawing, because she could not exert herself, and chatting to the nurses who took her blood every other day. Though she tried to believe otherwise, Madge was a little upset over the fact that she had only three visitors. She was sure other patients had loads of them, people bringing them balloons and flowers and stuffed animals. She was sure that somewhere down her corridor, people were sitting outside someone's room, waiting for their turn to visit because the room already was too full.

Apart from her father, Katniss, and Peeta, Madge never had any regular visitors. Peeta wasn't very regular, though. He came around when he could (and when he did, Madge felt this feeling of complete and utter euphoria that rarely showed), sneaking in freshly baked cupcakes. The doctors, who urged her father to keep from bringing home food, honestly thought that nothing other than the genetically enriched, protein-filled hospital food would sit well with Madge's stomach. She, on the other hand, disagreed.

Her father never said much during his visits, mostly just stroked her hand. Katniss, too, wasn't woman of many words, but that was just Katniss.

Peeta, on the other hand, when Peeta came, Madge never could shut up. Having been together in school since their very, _very _first day at school, she had grown particularly fond of him. Her relationship with Peeta was different to her relationship with Katniss. Though it hurt a bit in the beginning, Madge eventually realised that Katniss had Gale, and it would always been Gale and Katniss. She and Katniss never had to talk to fill the silence; both of them were quite comfortable with it. Admittedly, sometimes there wasn't anything to say.

However, Peeta, Peeta and Madge, that was something else. With Peeta, Madge didn't feel sick. She didn't feel like she had this stupid hereditary disease. She felt like everything was fine, perfect even, but then Peeta left, and the doctors came in, and needles came out. And Madge was faced once again with the dull reality of her disease.

She never was going to get better.

Over time, she came to accept it, that she wouldn't be able to do the things that other girls her age would do. She wouldn't be able to go to parties, she wouldn't be able to drink, she probably wouldn't be able to sneak out for the first time. She accepted it, though. She didn't like it, but she accepted it. It was just one of those things, she told herself; the sun would shine, Gale would always hate her, Peeta would keep bringing her cupcakes, she was going to die.

You know, just one of those things.

Madge had just finished one of the books Peeta brought for her when he knocked on the door and let himself in.

"Good morning, Peeta," Madge said with a brilliant smile. The way her pretty face brightened at the sight of the blonde-haired boy banished any evidence of her terminal illness.

Peeta turned around to look at the silver clock that hung above the door, and Madge sighed, with both content and exasperation. In in one hand, Peeta held a brown bag tied with a candyfloss-pink ribbon, and in the other, a folder containing work and notes from the last two days of school. Peeta came often enough to drop of her schoolwork. Although her teachers were hesitant to give her work, considering her condition, Madge made Peeta bring whatever she missed. Tests, projects, she didn't mind missing those, but she didn't want to miss the learning.

"Mom was fighting with Tris again. Tris burnt the bread, Mom backhanded him," Peeta said absently, turning on his heel to face her. Madge shot him an empathetic glance. Being an only child and motherless, Madge wasn't familiar with mother-sibling fights, but because of how terrifying both Mrs Mellark and her son Tristan were, Madge could only imagine how loud and, well, _scary _things got.

"Sorry," Madge said, and she really meant it.

Peeta only smiled, and the topic ended there. He knew there were things far worse than your mother and brother fighting, and she was lying in front of him. Sitting down on the white (_more white_) leather chair on the side of the bed, Peeta set the brown bag on Madge's blanketed lap and put the folder in a large drawer containing her belongings.

"What have we today, Mister Mellark?" Madge asked, sitting up a bit further up against her headboard. Madge was excited for what Peeta made today; hospital food drove her up the walls, but it was either that or starvation.

As she fiddled to undo the glossy ribbon that tied the bag closed, Peeta replied, "Red velvet. I know you like those."

"You're an angel, Peeta, you know that?" Madge reached over to her bedside table and pulled open the drawer, retrieving a round, silver tin. She rolled her soft-pink ribbon around her index and middle fingers and stuffed it into the tin with the other rainbow of ribbons. "An absolute angel."

"All for you, Miss Madge," Peeta said with a smile.

He was wonderful, Peeta. He really was. He never made Madge feel uncomfortable. He never asked her about her illness, except asking how she was, only waiting for her to bring the topic up herself. Madge actually preferred it that way.

Madge's tongue delicately slid over the cream-coloured top, scraping some of the icing into her mouth. Peeta was the best baker _ever_, no doubt about that.

"And?" Peeta leaned forward, waiting for her response.

"You're amazing." Peeta grinned and leaned further to get a cupcake for himself. "These - my mom used to make these for me." This statement made Peeta squirm uncomfortably in his seat, but Madge smiled at him and shook her head. "You don't have to be uncomfortable about it, Peeta. I was just saying."

"I know, but..."

"Never mind," Madge changed the subject and licked the top of the cupcake clean. "How're things at school?"

"Fine, fine," Peeta responded, with a vague expression on his face. When Madge saw that face, she knew things weren't fine.

"Peeta..." Madge considered it had something to do with Katniss.

"Do you think you'll have to go to the Reaping?" Peeta asked suddenly. Madge realised that it was only a month before the Reaping. Involuntarily, she shuddered. The question put her in discomfort, and she silently cursed Peeta for bringing something like that up.

"Probably." She couldn't help the unpleasant feeling that rolled around in her stomach. Admittedly, she hadn't given it much thought, but now the thought was here, and it scared her, and she couldn't will it away. She would probably attend the Reaping in a wheelchair, and if her name was drawn, she didn't know what she would do.

"I hope you don't." Peeta touched her hand, that vacant look still on his face.

"Me too, Peeta."

As if by some kind of miracle, because this situation had reached sixty levels on uncomfortable, Calla, one of the nurses assigned to Madge, entered the room. Eyeing the brown bag on the patient's lap, and the guilty expressions on the teenagers' faces, Calla said, "Best be taking that away, before the doctor sees." Then she winked as Peeta crumpled the bag and shoved it into his coat pocket.

Calla was one of the only nurses Madge liked. She was a hospital patient herself, had beaten some sort of illness that was supposed to have killed her. Fresh out of this very hospital, Calla had returned only a year later, taking up a position of nurse. Now, the best thing about Calla was that she was the only nurse who didn't fuss about Peeta sneaking non-hospital food into Madge's room, having experienced the terrible food herself.

"Know what day it is today, Miss Madge?" Calla's nose wrinkled.

"Blood day," Madge replied with a loud sigh and Calla smiled sympathetically.

Blood day. Twice a week, painful as hell, happened to nearly all the patients at one stage or another. Some patients were luckier, only got it once, twice maybe each month. Madge, on the other hand, was one of the unluckiest of the lot. One a day, three days a week until she was discharged, and she didn't know when that was going to happen. For all she knew, this could be her permanent room.

The regular blood tests often left her in a daze, and not quite in control of her actions. She'd say things, nothing bad, just silly things that would make her cringe when Calla told her about them, and she'd do things that made her feel stupid. That was something she hated, not being in control. It was frustrating.

"That means you need to scram," Calla said to Peeta.

"You'll come by later?" Madge asked, her tone hopeful. "I need some more books to read." Peeta promised he would, took the book Madge had finished, nodded a farewell to Calla and left.

Calla got the primary tools ready in silence - three needles with lengths matching the one from the tip of Madge's middle finger to where her wrist and hand met, a scalpel, in case anything went wrong, a bottle of disinfectant, three rolls of bandages.

Finally, Calla opened her mouth, but Madge interrupted her with, "No, Calla. Just, no."

"But he's lovely," Calla protested, cleaning Madge's outstretched arm with disinfectant and a ball of cotton wool.

"You say that every, single time you see him, Calla, and I always say no. We're friends. He's interested in Katniss anyway, always has been."

Calla looked thoughtful for a moment, but continued wiping Madge's arm. "The girl with the braid?" Madge nodded, and Calla replaced the bright orange cotton wool for a waxy crayon, marking down in three suitable veins to push the needles into. "That's the first I've heard of Peeta and Katniss. If you told me at the beginning, I would've shut up."

"Calla, I did."

"Okay, fine." Calla smiled to herself and started humming something under her breath as she readied the equipment. "Is Katniss coming today?" she asked, for no reason in particular.

Madge nodded. "Later, she said yesterday that she had a surprise for me."

Calla smiled again, a pretty, white-tooth smile, and set the equipment on a silvery tray. She tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and reached over, giving Madge's delicate hand a gentle squeeze.

"I'll fetch Doctor Hawk ridge now."

And she left, only to return a moment later with another woman with whom Madge had become familiar in her two weeks (so far) in the hospital.

When Madge was first told that Doctor Hawkridge was assigned to her, she had expected a man, large, burly, and kind of scary. She didn't expect this idea that she built up about her doctor to be shattered by a tiny old woman with greying-brown hair and big green eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses. Ursa Hawkridge had a kind face, decorated with smile lines around her mouth and eyes. She walked with a sort of waddle, always with her hair in a tight bun and her white coat rustling on her body. Her temperament didn't match her kindly, timid appearance, though. While she was bustling up and down Madge's corridor, Madge could hear her barking orders, shouting at staff and threatening them like crazy. Though she had a sweet face, Hawkridge was terrifying.

Today seemed to have caught Doctor Hawkridge in one of her better moods. She was smiling apologetically at Madge, because she had worked with many patients and therefore was quite familiar with Blood Day.

"Same procedure as always, Madge," Ursa said, taking the clipboard Calla handed to her. Reading carefully, she added, "I think you'll be able to leave, soon."

"Really?" Madge's eyes lit up. Two weeks here were two too many. The thought of going home, if only to an empty house, made her glad. It wasn't so much that she wanted to be home; her father worked long, hard hours, and Madge couldn't stand their housekeeper, more the fact that she was well enough to leave.

"Indeed. Two weeks, wow. That's longer than most patients. You've done quite well, though, so I think perhaps after a week or two of recovery, you might be able to go back to school."

This excited Madge to the point that she released a high-pitched squeal. Her cheeks turned pink and she covered her mouth in embarrassment, but the two other women in the room only smiled.

"How long did you say until I can go?" Madge asked, her cheeks still stained pink.

"I can't give you an exact amount of time," Ursa replied, her eyes still glued to the clipboard. "I'm sure it won't be too long, though."

This had Madge in a good mood all the way through her blood tests. The thought of home, _home, _echoed in her head on an endless loop. She didn't fidget or cry out when Ursa injected her, she only cringed on the final injection. This was one of the better Blood Days, without a doubt.

As Calla bottled Madge's blood and gave Madge a handful of pills that would keep her as in-control as possible, Ursa left swiftly and wordlessly, the alarm on her side alerting her of an urgent request for her from another patient.

After an hour of taking the pills, Madge seemed fairly stable. No impulsive outbursts, she didn't burst into song, or into tears. She was quiet, staring around the room with a blank expression on her face and an empty look in her eyes. Calla knew it was the medicine acting.

Calla left, eventually, and Madge lay down, staring at the snow-white ceiling. She felt odd, quite ... numb inside. She wasn't quite sure how she was feeling, but it was possibly one of the strangest things she'd ever felt. Her toes were tingling and the hair at the back of her neck stood up. She told herself that it was the medicine causing these things. Of course, Calla would never give her something that could potentially prove harmful.

Madge fell asleep for a while, and when she woke up, the clock read quarter past three.

Had she been asleep that long? That was nearly six hours. That feeling of numbness she had experienced only a few hours before had long faded, and she felt normal. Absently, she gently traced her fingers over her bandages on her arm, wondering if Peeta had come back while she was sleeping.

The new pile of books on the cabinet close to her bed told her that he had, and it irritated her a little. She would have much preferred if he woke her up. Then again, if he did, and someone saw him doing so, he would have Hawkridge to answer to.

Had Katniss come already? Madge's mind drifted from Peeta to Katniss - mentally, she had them linked, so usually when she was thinking of the one, she would soon be thinking about the other. She regretted falling asleep. Katniss, since recently, hadn't been as regular a visitor as she had been before, and Madge got very upset at the thought she had missed Katniss.

Apart from Peeta, Katniss was the only other link to the outside-the-hospital world. The Mayor was in his own world already, having lost his wife to this disease and in the midst of losing his daughter as well. Katniss, when she was in the mood to talk, would tell her about school, what was going on, how everyone was, not in a gossip sort of way, just telling Madge what she had missed. Peeta brought her schoolwork; Katniss mentioned the important things she missed. The two were both so involved with Madge, but their paths had never once crossed, at least, never had Madge heard.

Did Katniss stop by when she was sleeping? This was really bothering her. Two days, she hadn't seen Katniss, but although it seemed short to some people, for Madge it was an eternity. She saw the same people day in and day out, followed the same tedious routine; every day seemed like a hundred years on its own.

Madge rang Calla on the small handset beside her bed. Usually, these would be for emergencies, patients would call the doctors and nurses if there was a problem, but Madge mostly used it to chat to Calla.

"What's up, Madge?" Calla's voice rang clearly in the room.

"I wanted to know, Cal, did Katniss stop by today? While I was asleep."

"No, I don't think so. She would have needed to sign in, and -" Calla's voice paused for a moment before she said, "And no, she didn't."

This came as a rush of relief. Madge really missed Katniss. She thought maybe Katniss was out hunting or something of that sort. She usually goes hunting with Gale.

An hour before visiting hours ended, someone arrived at her room, but it wasn't Katniss. Her fourth visitor to come and see her was standing in the doorway, with a hesitant expression on his face and a messy head of dark hair, and a basket of strawberries tucked discreetly under his arm.

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_A/N: I'm taking a break from my other stuff, but I haven't abandoned it. I read so many wonderful Gadge (though, personally I like Underthorne) fics and wanted to have a go myself. I think this is going to happen a little bit before the Games. Obviously, this is sort of AU. Idk if I'm planning on continuing with this, but I'd like to hear your thoughts anyway?]_


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